The D'Karon Apprentice (38 page)

The commander eased himself painfully into
his chair and poured a glass of water for Grustim, then poured his
own tumbler two-thirds full of water before topping it with the
contents of the bottle. As the clear liquor met the clear water,
both took on a milky-white color and an almost pearlescent
sheen.

Both glasses full, Brustuum and Grustim set
their palms flat on the wooden plank and bowed their heads.

“May the nectar of your bounty sustain us,”
they recited quietly before lifting their glasses.

Brustuum sipped his drink with a sour look on
his face. “You know, I genuinely hoped I’d been misinformed when I
heard the delegation to Tressor would receive a Dragon Rider as an
escort. Your presence unnecessarily elevates them. Of course, now I
realize that with a dragon of their own, there are few who could
hope to subdue them when they inevitably chose to break their
treaty.”

“So you were informed of the nature of the
delegation,” Grustim said.

“Indeed. I am one of only three commanders
prepared for the arrival of the enemy. They had me searching for
the agent. As you can see, I found her.”

“Yes, I see that. I had some questions in
that regard.”

“As you would.”

“What time of day did this occur?”

“Quite near midday yesterday.”

Grustim leaned back slightly, gazing at
Brustuum silently.

“And how many of your men were killed?”

“Five. Nearly seven.”

“Yes. Nearly. But the seriously injured men
will live, thanks to the efforts of the duchess.”

“Small recompense for the lives already
taken,” Brustuum rumbled.

“How many men are under your command?”

“Fifty-six. Now Fifty-one.”

“And how many prisoners?”

“Fifteen. Sixteen including the escaped
Northern agent. Two now, the duke and duchess.”

“And their dragon.”

“I suppose. Typically we wouldn’t count
livestock.”

Grustim shifted in his chair. “So you lost
all
of your prisoners when the agent escaped?”

“We tend to cluster our prisoners together to
simplify watch duty. The attack was centered on the agent’s cell,
so it killed them all. As well as the guards on duty and nearly
myself.”

“I see. I assume, remote as this stronghold
is, you deliver and receive your messages via falcon?”

“Of course. And mounted messengers for
shorter distances.”

Another nod. “Describe this agent.”

“Ah, finally we are past the formalities and
foolishness and into the valuable questions. The woman was my
height. Northern, of course. Dark hair falling well past her waist.
Threaded with gray. Perhaps in her midforties. Dressed in dark
robes, armed with a bone staff with a purple gem. She kept a…
creature. Nothing nature could have wrought.”

“How did you capture her?”

“She came willingly, after we found that
she’d ravaged a nomad tribe two days east of here.”

“And that was how long ago?”

“Five days.”

“And she was able to escape noon
yesterday.”

Brustuum sipped his drink with a grimace.
“Yes, as I’ve said. Her escape was through some manner of
mystically summoned window. Now, my recommendations for—”

“I’m not interested in tactics. Strategy is
best left to strategists.”

“Ah… Then you will deliver this information
to your superiors?”

“When my mission is through.”

“What, if not to aid in the capture and
punishment of this aggressor within our land, is your mission?”

“My assignment was to accompany and aid the
duke and duchess as they investigated the selfsame aggressor who
you’ve let slip through your fingers. As you’ve seen fit to detain
them and they are thus unable to investigate personally, that task
is left entirely to me.”

“You would serve the
Northerners
?”

“I would follow orders. Now am I correct in
assuming the nearest liaison from the capital has been made aware
of the woman’s capture?”

“They have not yet been made aware.”

“But you have a falcon, and you returned with
her three days ago. Unless there have been changes since my last
briefing, you would report any significant findings to Malaar,
which is well within two-days’ falcon flight.”

Brustuum sipped his drink. “Our falcon was
unavailable at the time of the capture.”

“Then you will have sent a rider.”

“Naturally.

“And a rider would take…”

“Four days, at best.”

“I see. What route would this messenger
take?”

Brustuum thumped his glass down roughly.
“What possible difference would that make?”

“If you’ve sent him with news of the woman’s
capture, then his information is out of date or outright false.
This is too sensitive a time to allow disinformation to circulate.
Garr and I can easily intercept him and deliver a more complete and
accurate assessment of the situation.”

“Better to deliver the message yourself. Do
not waste your time intercepting my runner.”

“Assuming your runner took the most direct
route, and I cannot imagine much value in straying far from it,
then it would be no delay at all. I am curious why—”

His observation was interrupted by a cry from
the hallway. “Esteemed Dragon Rider! Please, we require your
assistance!”

After some thumping footsteps, the breathless
voice made another plea. “Many apologies, but this… could become
dangerous if it is not dealt with properly.”

“What is it that cannot wait until the Rider
and I are through?” asked the commander.

“We are having some difficulty with the
Northerners’ dragon. It and the Rider’s mount appear to be getting
agitated.”

“Trained and untrained dragons can have
violent interactions at times, Commander. If you are willing to
postpone the rest of our discussion, I will tend to the
situation.”

Brustuum drained the second half of his glass
and thumped it on the table.

“See to it,” he said.

Grustim stood and marched to the door as the
commander refilled his glass. The Rider pulled the door open to
find himself face to face with a man who had quite obviously been
coping with a tinderbox of a situation and had no clue how to
handle it.

“What is the issue?” Grustim asked, falling
into quick pace behind the man, who spoke between brief, harried
glances as he rushed back toward the exit.

“The, ah, the dragon. The red one. It… we… it
seems to understand Northern, and Footman Quarnaam speaks a bit. It
was listening. But once we ushered it into the stable, it… we… it
won’t let us close the doors.”

“Won’t let you?”

“Well, it will let us close the door, but it
won’t let us keep it closed, and I think it has something to do
with
your
dragon.”

“It isn’t unlikely,” Grustim said.

The pair made it outside in time to see the
latest effort to secure Myn just finishing up. Five soldiers were
hammering splintered and salvaged planks into place, securing a
stable door that was a good deal more damaged than Grustim
remembered from their arrival.

Garr was lying on the ground, his head held
low and his eyes narrowed. The male’s pointed snout was angled for
the doors, eying it with the focus and expectation of a wolf
waiting for a rabbit to poke its head out of its den.

The soldiers were working feverishly, despite
the pounding sun, and looking incrementally more frenzied with each
passing moment. By the time the final spike had been hammered true,
most of the soldiers had run to a safe distance. The final worker
dropped his tool and sprinted for the wall of the main keep, then
turned and waited. For a few beats, there was silence save for the
panting breaths of the workers and the howling desert wind. Then
came the slow, deliberate creak from within.

After a few seconds, the new braces buckled,
popping free. When they’d clattered to the ground, Myn gave a sharp
nudge and the doors flew open, smashing into the walls of the
stable hard enough to dislodge one door entirely. She then snaked
her head forward slightly, matching Garr’s same hard gaze. The two
then commenced a grumbling exchange that was barely at the edge of
hearing, yet loud enough to rattle pebbles across the ground.

“That thing is a vicious monster…” the
footman leading Grustim said shakily.

“A vicious monster who waited until the
workers were clear before forcing the door,” he muttered under his
breath. Grustim stepped forward, raising his voice: “Stand
aside.”

“You aren’t going in there, are you?” called
one of the soldiers in awe.

“I am.”

He marched toward the door of the stable.
Even with the horses moved to the shade of a tower for the time
being, there was room for little else but Myn within its walls. As
he drew nearer, her gaze flicked to Grustim and her muscles tensed.
She pivoted her head to him and flared her nostrils, peeling back
her lips to reveal a glint of teeth. The rumbling grew sharper,
higher in pitch and more aggressive.

Grustim didn’t falter. He simply ducked below
her craned head to slip inside. Once there, Myn shifted herself,
pulling her head inside and turning her body. The move achieved a
number of things. First and foremost, it allowed the dragon,
huddled as she was under the low roof, to look him in the eye
again. It also blocked the door behind her and blotted out most of
the light from the doorway.

Her growling was loud enough to shake dust
from the rafters, but he simply stared at her evenly, arms
crossed.

“Enough. You are being a child,” Grustim
said, adopting the Northern tongue again. “These men believe you to
be mindless. I know better. So do not think that your posturing and
grumbling can intimidate me. Myranda trusts you, and you trust her.
This relationship the two of you have could not exist otherwise. It
is because you trust her that I’ve given the woman what leeway I
have. And it is because she trusts you that I believe her judgment
is sound. But right now, this damage you are willfully causing is
just foolish.”

Myn’s growling trailed off, but her
expression remained hard.

“There are a number of things you must do,
and you must do quickly if you are to have any hope of salvaging
this mission for Myranda. First, you must stop this foolishness and
allow yourself to be detained.”

The dragon pulled her lips back again.

“You and I both know the stronghold could
scarcely contain you, let alone this flimsy shack, but your very
presence in this courtyard is pushing the soldiers to their wits
end, so you must allow them at least the illusion of control. When
humans do not feel in control of a situation, they begin to act
rashly.”

Myn shifted her head, glancing toward the
wall in the direction of Garr and grunted again.

“Garr is the mount of a Dragon Rider. Most of
the soldiers believe I have some supernatural control over him, and
I have no reason to correct them,” he said. “And on the subject of
Garr,
stop taunting
.”

She pulled her head back slightly and darted
her eyes briefly aside.

“I can read your tone and posture as well as
he can. You made a terrible mistake earlier. Garr has never been
knocked down in fair sparring. To be grounded by a wild-caught,
even a female, must burn at him terribly.”

Myn drew in a breath and puffed her chest
slightly.

“Don’t be so cocky. You’d each been commanded
to end the battle. He’d assumed you would fight with the same
discipline as he. Instead you took advantage of him. He gave you
more credit than you deserved. Don’t expect so easy a time if the
two of you come to blows again.”

The dragon tilted her head doubtfully.

“Believe what you will, but Garr has been
trained in combat and you have not. Challenge him at your peril. Or
better, do not challenge him at all.”

Grustim looked to the door behind Myn, then
turned and paced toward the corner of the stable, mind deep in
thought. Turned as he was, and with his eyes finally adjusted to
the light, he found that in their haste to clear the stable for Myn
the soldiers had forgotten two creatures. A pair of falcons, hooded
and clearly flustered by the scent and sound of the massive
predator sharing the stable, stood on perches in a large cage to
one side.

The Dragon Rider stepped forward and looked
between the bars. If they were still hooded, they’d been handled
recently. He observed their legs. In Tressor, colored bands were
used to indicate to and from what locations each falcon was meant
to fly. There were roosts for only two falcons, and each bore a
band indicating a destination of their sister stronghold in
Malaar.

“Two falcons…” Grustim murmured. He turned to
Myn. “I want you to answer some questions about Myranda.”

Myn looked aside and huffed a breath.

“Now is no time to be stubborn, Myn. The man
who holds power in this keep is not one for mercy. Hatred for the
north drips from him, perhaps enough to blind him of his duty and
his dedication to the truth. Honesty will help her. Anything less
and I cannot promise there is anything that I can do.”

She turned her gaze back to him.

“She treats you well? Listens to you, speaks
to you?”

The expression this question earned carried
the clear threat that any suggestion to the contrary would have
swift and fiery results.

“And the madness your woman just willfully
performed, risking her life and the ire of the entire stronghold
for a pair of ailing soldiers. Was that genuine? It was not
manipulation?”

Myn closed her eyes and nodded once.

“She would truly commit what in the eyes of
the commanding officer is nothing less than an act of aggression to
heal a pair of injured men, even if they were not her countrymen?
Even if they were strangers who only weeks ago might have been
clashing swords with her own people?”